Crossroads
by 10forever
Summary: Written for a prompt on a meme. Molly's father is called to war, but she's convinced by the family guardian, Sherlock, to sneak off and take his place. No one should be too bored now.  Mulan fusion AU, eventual John/Sherlock
1. And So It Begins

**Written for sherlockbbc_fic's meme on LJ. The prompt was "Sherlock fic but Mulan style", which I decided to do in a more of a reel!fic kinda way. I will update this as I write it for the meme, so it will be in short chunks. (I know some people hate that, so I thought I'd warn for it ahead of time) **

**This is the first time I've put a name to any Sherlock fic, so if anyone wants to give feedback, GO FOR IT. Be harsh if you need to, I do want to get better at writing. **

* * *

The story started, as so many often do, in a small village. People like to write off small country areas as unimportant, as if the price for clear air and lots of space was being irrelevant to the rest of the universe. But today, at least, this small village was home to the girl who would save the Empire. If she could manage it, of course, which didn't seem very likely at the moment.

Molly stared at herself in the mirror, slowly brushing her long, brown hair. She was nervous, and her hand trembled a bit as she put it down. Today was The Day, capitalized. The day where she was evaluated as a future wife.

"Almost done?" Molly's mama called impatiently from outside her door, waiting to finish getting ready.

"Just a minute," Molly called back. She quietly slid open her desk drawer, looking for the small white parcel. Gently she unwrapped the tissue, revealing a small jade hairpin her papa had bought for the occasion. Her fingers curled around the smooth green stone and, just for a moment, Molly allowed herself to believe the day wouldn't be a disaster.

"You look lovely," Mama said as Molly opened the door, smiling warmly. "I knew the blue would be perfect."

"Really?" Molly asked, fingering the soft skirt. It was certainly the most luxurious thing her parents had ever given her- after all, there was not much need for fancy dresses if you were a country knight's daughter.

Mama smiled again, the lines at the corner of her eyes crinkling in. "You're ready to see the Matchmaker."

"But Mama," Molly began, nervously fiddling with her sleeve. "What if... I mean, what if she finds me wanting?"

"The Matchmaker is a woman who was never married," Papa's voice said from the doorway. He rested against the doorway, allowing his cane to tap idly against the floor. "The entire exercise seems to rely on the fact that it takes one to know one."

"Hush up," Mama scolded, but Molly could see the twinkle in her father's eye. He crossed the room, picking up the jade hairpin from the desk.

"For luck," he said, beckoning her over so he could slide it into her bun. Molly gave him a tight hug, and his chuckle rumbled through his chest against her cheek.

Mama held open the door. "It's time to go, Molly."

"You have my blessings," Papa whispered in her ear before Mama whisked her outside, where Gladstone and the wagon was waiting.

Papa was right about the Matchmaker. Molly


	2. Disaster and Boredom

It was a complete disaster. Not of it was actually Molly's fault, but she got blamed for it anyway. It turned out the man who sold Papa the jade pin and stolen it, and the original owners were far from pleased. Sending in a trained assassin seemed a bit of an overkill, since Molly was a reasonable girl. She had managed to avoid being skewered only by smashing throwing the tea into his face, blinding him a bit with the hot water. He had crashed into the heirloom china cabinet, however, so when the Matchmaker and Molly stumbled out of her house onto the time square soaking wet and gasping for air, the Matchmaker angrily handed out her verdict.

_Unfit for marriage. _Molly could hear the whispers throughout the village as she returned home to the estate, red faced and unable to look Mama in the eye. Waiting at home, proving once again the fate was determined to through Molly into her destiny face first, was a messenger from King Mycroft, calling all of the knights in the Empire to war.

"You can't go!" Molly insisted as her father received the summons. "Papa, you've been wounded. You'll die in battle."

"It would be nice," Papa said mildly, "To know my daughter had faith in me."

"There are plenty of men to fight for the King!"

"It is my duty," Papa replied, fixing her with a severe look. "You should learn yours." Molly stared at him before fleeing to her bedroom, tears in her eyes.

* * *

Every country estate had a small shrine, dedicated to the spirits and fairies that tended to wander into the woods. Molly's room overlooked the small area, the creeping vines and the silver birches framed directly across from her window. When she was younger, she used to stare out, watching for any spirits to creep through during the night. It never occurred to her that if she could see out, than they could see in.

Lestrade was a simple spirit, one that had looked over the entire area for hundreds of years. In pagan times he was regarded as a God of the woods, but the era of worship and sacrifices had long since passed. He still was in control of the area, of course, and looked over all who lived within it. His duties had consisted of keeping on eye on the land, resolving any disputes between different creatures, and making sure no one toyed too much with the humans. Overall, the woods was a happy place.

Until some idiot trapped Sherlock to what was now the Hooper household, that is. Now, Sherlock wasn't anything Lestrade was used to. He wasn't a ghost and he had never been human. He couldn't have been a nymph or a dryad, because he refused to be limited to trees or water. He hadn't ever been a deity, as far as Lestrade could tell, but he still maintained basic control over different elements. And whatever he was, he was _clever_. Lestrade quickly learned to personally patrol the borders to the land Sherlock was bound to, else he'd goad the local spirits into attacking him or even each other. And this was the problem, it seemed, because Sherlock had been living in Hooper's shrine for over a hundred years.

He was bored.

"Sherlock," Lestrade said, appearing outside the shrine, blocking his view of Molly's window. He was frowning, and his arms were crossed, (_Oddly positioned, hiding the green stain spreading across his front, tiny bite mark on his wrist, not healed yet- must have gotten between the water sprites and the gnomes. Pity, that one might have been interesting._) "Did you have anything to do with-"

"Move," Sherlock interrupted. "You wouldn't have wasted any time coming here if you didn't think I was behind it, and no, I'm not sorry so I won't stop."

"Why are you watching the girl again?" Lestrade asked, glancing warily at Sherlock. "You're not planning on doing anything to her, are you?"

Sherlock's face pinched in displeasure. "Her father knows enough to make his time here unpleasant for me if I did anything. It's boring enough being stuck here with the inhabitants, much less being confined to the farthest area of it."

"You're supposed to be the house's guardian," Lestrade pointed out.

"Their grandfather thought if he bound me here, I'd use my mind to help the family," Sherlock snapped. "I didn't choose to guard anything. Besides, none of their problems are worth my effort."

"The family received a summon to war," Lestrade said. "The father is the only man in the household, but he'll die with his bad leg. Why don't you solve that?"

"He can ignore the summons. Boring."

"Stop making trouble in my woods, Sherlock," Lestrade pleaded with a sigh. "Go bother your humans for a while."

"The humans are all essentially the same," Sherlock called after the god's retreating back. "Useless extensions of the estate. Just because I'm bound to them doesn't mean I'm going to protect them."

"Then follow the father to war!" Lestrade shouted back before disappearing.

_Useless. With that handicap he'll die within the month_, Sherlock thought. _The girl's the only one who could actually fight. But women aren't allowed into the army, despite the certain tactical advantages they possess. The quaint little notions of the humans are really quite-_

"Oh," Sherlock breathed, a light coming to his eyes as a new idea came to him. "That could work." He grinned and stood up, staring eagerly at Molly.

Inside her room, Molly shivered, suddenly feeling a chill run down her spine.


	3. Knock at the Window

Molly looked up from her bed, hearing a noise at her window. A tall, pale man stood on the other side of the glass, tapping on it. She startled up, staring at him with wide eyes. He motioned for her to unlatch the window and Molly quickly shook her head no.

The man rolled his eyes and waved his hand, causing the window to blow open on his own.

"Why did you ask me to open it if you were just going to do it yourself?" Molly asked as he climbed into her bedroom.

"I was trying not to scare you," he replied, giving her a rather scathing look. And that wasn't fair, because _he_ was the one climbing into _her _bedroom. "But you were being difficult."

"Who are you?" Molly asked, doubtfully eyeing him as he undid a rather spectacular coat and tossed it across one of her chairs before crashing onto the bed next to her. She didn't squeak once, thank you very much, even when he turned to study her with eyes that were clearly supernatural. "And what are you doing in here?"

"Sherlock Holmes, guardian of this house and all who reside within it," he replied quickly. "Your great-great-grandfather... invited me. I watched you grow up."

"I've never seen you," Molly ventured cautiously.

"Yes, well you wouldn't. Humans are frightfully stupid, only seeing what you want to. We spoke once, when you were very young. I saved you from drowning in the pond."

He didn't add that it was because she would have disrupted some of his experiments if she thrashed around there and someone else had to go in to pull her out, and she didn't add that all she really remembered of that incident was a tall, scowling man who yelled at her to keep out of his way. She hadn't ventured outside the house for weeks.

"Yes," Molly settled on saying. Always safer to agree with spirits, so long as you didn't promise them anything, until you knew what they wanted.

"Anyway," Sherlock began, clapping his hands together. "I've come to fix your problem."

Molly stared at him. "What problem?"

"Your father's impending enlistment in the army," Sherlock replied. "An order for one son serve the country from every family. Your father is crippled, correct?"

"Papa has a war wound," Molly snapped, bristling at the word crippled.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed with her clarification. "Yes, whatever you like. Now, if someone else was to show up with the notice, they could easily take your father's place. The army wouldn't particularly care who so long as they got their disposable forces."

"Do you think we could pay someone?" Molly asked. "I don't know of anyone who would be willing-"

"Do you have the funds for that kind of payment?" Sherlock demanded. "No, it'd be much easier for you to take your father's armor and go yourself."

"_Me_?" Molly squeaked. "But I'm not a man!"

"You'd pass for a boy gone off to war for his ailing father," Sherlock insisted. "I'd have to cut cut your hair and bind your chest down, of course."

"You're not going anywhere near my chest!" Molly hissed. "You honestly expect that I could pass for a man?"

Sherlock shrugged. "They don't expect much from country boys. But if you don't think your father's life is worth it..."

Molly's narrowed and she shoved a sharp finger into Sherlock's chest. "I'd do anything for Papa!"

"Excellent," Sherlock said with a grin and held up a pair of scissors that Molly didn't recognize. "Turn around."

Molly opened her mouth to protest, but her eyes fell on the jade pen resting on the nightstand beside the bed. She closed her eyes and nodded, obeying Sherlock. For a few minutes neither of them talked, the soft snip of the scissors the only indication of Molly's transformation.

"Done," Sherlock said after a moment, and he crawled over to the other side of the bed, studying her. She felt the ends of her once-long hair, now just barely brushing her shoulders.

"What now?" Molly whispered, suddenly realizing that she was leaving home indefinitely tonight.

"Tie it up," Sherlock replied, throwing a string at her. Molly quickly pulled her hair up into a pony tail as Sherlock stuck his head out the door, making sure the rest of the household was asleep. "I'll go get the armor, since I doubt you'll be able to carry it without tripping and making a horrible noise. Go get the enlistment notice- it's beside your father's bed. Meet me in the stable when you've retrieved it."

Molly nodded and Sherlock disappeared into the inky blackness of the hallway. She started to go after him, but something made her turn to look at the jade pin on her nightstand. She grabbed it and used to replace the notice as she silently stood in her parents room, watching them sleep. Molly smiled fondly at her parents, hoping that her father would understand why she was following Sherlock's advice.

By the time she arrived at the stable, Sherlock was patting down a large, unfamiliar warhorse.

"You'd need a horse if you wanted to get to the army without your father catching up to you," Sherlock explained without turning around, her surprised gasp telling him what she was thinking. "And that one was too old."

"What's his name?" Molly asked, slowly holding her hand out for the new horse. It towered above her and it was inky black with a long stretch of dusty grey running down its face. Exactly the kind of horse Molly dreamed of when she was a girl, and now it's eyes were peering at her with intelligence. If Sherlock summoned it, Molly would be willing to bet it wasn't the average horse."

"You wouldn't be able to pronounce it," Sherlock replied dismissively.

Molly scowled at him before turning back to the horse. "Well then, I'll just call you Toby," she decided.

"Toby?" Sherlock repeated. "He's a magical horse, and you want to name him _Toby_?"

"Apparently I can't pronounce anything else," Molly said sweetly, grinning when Sherlock turned away in annoyance. She stared at the armor Sherlock had laid on the ground. "Right, how am I going to get that on?"

Sherlock snapped his fingers and suddenly the armor was on her and, if the sudden tightness around her chest was anything to go by, so was her breast binding.

"I managed to make the armor a bit lighter so you'll actually be able to move around. You're also wearing a shirt and trousers underneath," Sherlock explained, checking Toby's saddle. "Knights don't wear nightgowns."

"What are you?" Molly asked, staring at him in disbelief.

"I'm your gaurdian," Sherlock said impatiently. "I already explained this."

"You can just create things out of thin air?" Molly continued. "Why are you guarding a small house in the country?"

Sherlock muttered darkly under his breath and Molly had the sudden impression she didn't want to know how Sherlock felt. She shook her head and hopped up into Toby's saddle, glad that Sherlock thought to take the weight off the metal, by whatever magical means he had.

"Toby knows where to go," Sherlock said as he led them out of the stable and through the gates to her house. Molly took one last look at home before she spurred Toby into a run, promising herself that she would see this through. She could hear Sherlock's annoyed sigh from somewhere behind her, and she glanced back to see him sitting on Toby's rump, balance be damned.

Well, at least she had a magical guardian. Things couldn't go too badly, right?


	4. To Ride and to Fight

Sherlock was not the best company on the road. He complained constantly about the slow travel, but Molly refused to make Toby run all the way there, magical animal or not. He was also able to reel off a list of facts about every person they met on the road, although he insisted that he did it by observation, not by his powers. Sherlock also made himself invisible to everyone but Molly, something she learned when she stopped for food in a small village and snapped at him, much to the discomfort of everyone around them.

"If the going is too slow for you," Molly hissed in frustration after Sherlock tried spurring Toby forward on his own, "Then just go on ahead."

"I can't," Sherlock replied, sounding very much as if he wished with all his might that he could, "I'm your guardian. I can't go very far from you or I get snapped back to the estate."

"You're not staying in my tent," Molly said quickly. "How close do you have to be?"

"I can go wherever you reside," Sherlock said after a moment. "I will be able to move around the camp without you."

"Good," Molly muttered. Sherlock gave her a look that seemed vaguely offended, so she sighed.

"It's not that I don't want your company. It's rather nice, actually. Reminds me of home."

"You didn't know I existed," Sherlock pointed out. They rode in silence for a while before he asked, "Is my company nice?"

"You're the most interesting person I've met in all my life," Molly said carefully. "By far the almost... intelligent."

"Oh," Sherlock blinked, looking vaguely pleased. Molly nodded, and urged Toby forward. The army's camp was only a few more hours away, so it was only inching towards evening when they arrived. Nervously Molly slid out of the saddle, glancing around at the busy camp. She could see the trained army lined up outside the gates, strong men in army packing up the last of their supplies.

"Sign in will be near the officer's tent," Sherlock whispered in her ear before he passed, leading her through the busy camp. Molly tried to follow closely, so when Sherlock ran into a pale, thin man talking two his friends he turned to blame her instead.

"Look where you're going," the man sneered at her. "I don't need some boy who's still wet behind the ears getting in my way."

"Yes, and I bet your unblemished hands are the result of all your hard training," Sherlock spat. The man wheeled around to face Molly.

"What did you say?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Molly stammered. "Sorry for bumping into you."

"Where'd you get armor like that?" the man continued. "Did you steal it?"

"It was my fathers!" Molly cried. The three men stared at her suspiciously and Sherlock frantically gestured for her to lower her voice. "And I don't see any armor of yours. Feeling a bit jealous?"

The man's face turned read and one of his friends began to chuckle. "Boy has a point, Anderson."

"No one asked you, Sebastian," Anderson hissed back.

"Right, well," Molly said, beginning to slide away. "Nice to meet you all, but I've got to be going."

"Why, scared of fighting real men?" Anderson laughed. "What are you, twelve?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Better to look like a twelve year old than to be as smart as one."

"What?" Anderson demanded again before pushing Molly to the ground. "Do you want to fight?"

"A fist fight against a boy weighed down by armor?" Sherlock hissed again in his ear. "You certainly give the word chivalry new meaning, don't you?"

Anderson's head whipped around "Who keeps talking?" Molly took the opportunity to kick his legs out from under him before skittering away. As the growing crowd around them laughed, he growled in anger and launched himself at Molly. She rolled away, planting a foot up on his chest and pushing him away when he tried to come at her. She scrambled upwards, only to collide with someone behind her.

"What's going on here?"

Molly spun around to find she had bumped into a man who, if his long red cloak was any indication, was a captain.

"He started a fight by plowing into Anderson, sir," the third man said, grinning slightly.

"I don't believe I asked you, Donovan," the man replied, barely glancing at him. "Soldier, what happened."

"A misunderstanding," Molly said, glancing at Anderson. He gingerly rubbed his chest and glared back, but he stayed silent.

"Tell me, where you come from, how do they deal with 'misunderstandings?"'

"Both parties shake hands and walk away?" Molly ventured timidly.

The man stared at her even harder, sizing her up. "What's your name?"

Behind him, Sherlock motioned for her to lie. They had gone over suitable alias during the journey.

"Uh-" Molly gasped, desperately trying to remember what Sherlock had taught her. She couldn't really remember-

"I asked you a question, soldier."

-what they talked about. She had tried to ask Sherlock about his family, and he had refused to talk about his older brother, while his younger bro-

The captain leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Give me your name!"

"Sherringford!" Molly blurted out. Sherlock gave a pained sigh and closed his eyes. "My name is Sherringford Hooper."

"Sherringford," the captain repeated doubtfully. "Let me see your enlistment papers."

Molly hurriedly handed them over while Sherlock leaned in between them.

'Sherringford?' he mouthed, annoyed. Molly stared ahead, determined to ignore him. The captain read the papers before glancing back up at her. "From the house of Hooper? I didn't know they had a son."

"They doesn't talk about me much," Molly tried with an unconvincing smile.

"Wonder why?" Sebastian snickered from behind them. The captain glanced at the crowd around them before he returned Molly's papers.

"Well, Sherringford, I'm training the new recruits. To make sure there are no more misunderstandings between soldiers, we're going to meet early. I want everyone in the training fields by sunrise. We'll have breakfast after our first exercises. "

"Yes, sir!" All the men around them replied, glaring murderously as Molly as soon as the captain walked away.

"Thanks, Sherringford," Anderson huffed. "Now Watson thinks I'm a trouble maker. Do you know what Captain Watson does with troublemakers?"

"Come on," Donovan said, gesturing towards the mess tent. "You don't really want to be found picking another fight, do you?"

Anderson stalked away with his friends, still muttering indignantly about Molly.

Sherlock slowly applauded her. "Well done, Molly. You were certainly paying attention when I said not to draw any attention to yourself."

"Be quiet," Molly hissed, stalking off so she could find a place to pitch her tent in peace.


	5. Training and Triumph

**A/N: So... at this point, we're going to pretend this isn't England we're talking about. It's a magical country that's a lot like England, but it isn't an island and they still have the cannons from Mulan. Um... yeah.**

* * *

Looking around the training field the next morning, Molly could tell she hadn't made any friends. Anderson kept glowering at her and everyone else avoided her, not wanting to be lumped in with the troublemaker. Molly could see Sherlock perched in a tree near the edge of the clearing, sprawling across its branches as he watched them intently.

"Attention," Watson called, striding expectantly to the middle of the field. The men formed a line and Molly dove into place. "Every morning, I should be the last person on the field. And-" John wheeled around to stare down the few who snickered. "You will each be judged. Personally."

Molly's eyes widened. She thought that the army was more about marching drills and learning how to hack away at enemies and not die in the process. Death was a pretty impartial judge, wasn't it?

"This is Lady Anthea," John said, nodding at a lady sitting at underneath Sherlock's tree. There was a warm gray blanket underneath her skirts and she nodded back at them. In her hands there was a thick leather journal; beside her was an inkwell and a quill. "She'll be reporting your progress to the King."

There was some grumbling at that, and John turned and opened a box resting beside the tall pole that towered over the entire field. From it he withdrew two weights attached to a loop of leather. Both weights were round, silver disks that, from the sound they made with John dropped them beside the pole, were quite heavy.

"Each of you will attempt to climb this pole with the weights attached to your wrists," John announced, nodding at the first man in line. "When you are in battle, you will have to fight with your armor, your sword, and your shield. The weight is unavoidable, and you must adapt to it."

Molly, shooting a grateful glance at Sherlock, was surprised to see him leaning out of the tree. He was staring at Lady Anthea, a puzzled expression on his face. Not his happily confused face, mind, but one that looked as if he was confronted with something that he didn't exactly like. Maybe Anthea had taken one glance at Molly and realized her secret?

A pained grunt distracted Molly and she turned her head just in time to see the first soldier fall to the base of the pole. A ripple of sympathy rippled through the line as the next man took the weights and attempted to climb. No one was successful, of course. Sebastian got the farthest up, almost halfway, but eventually the weight sent him sliding back to the ground. Molly felt as if she was the worst one by far, barely getting a few inches up before she tumbled down, the weights clunking uselessly at her side.

She sheepishly slunk towards the back of the line, away from John's frown and the scratching of Lady Anthea's quill. Hopes of being better at something else soon faded, because she had a hard time lifting a standard battle sword, was even worse and juggling that and a shield, and she couldn't aim a bow to save her life. It was a very long a month, filled with the trainees struggling, with Molly at the very bottom. She could see it in the way Watson frowned or Lady Anthea's mouth tightened whenever it was Molly's turn in an exercise. She wasn't trying to fail, but she just had a hard time. She always shied away from blows in fighting and her hand was never steady with archery. One night, two months after Molly arrived at camp, Watson approached her, Molly's army papers in hand.

"I think it's time for you to go home, Sherringford," Captain Watson said gently. "I'm sure your family is worried about you."

"So is every family for every man here," Molly protested. "Sir, I can work harder!"

Watson shook his head. "The army isn't for everyone. I'm not putting you in danger if I don't think you can survive it. The last thing I want is you getting killed because I thought troop numbers were more important that your abilities. Be safe on the road home."

Molly stared down at her papers as the captain walked away, willing herself not to cry. And here was another thing, in such a very long list, that she failed at. She was horrible at being a proper woman, had been branded to be unwed all her life. And now, after all this, she wasn't fit to be a man. Molly began to trudge back to her tent for her last night. She'd see Papa and Mama again, but...

A shadow fell across her vision, and she looked up. The pole stood tall and formidable in the moonlight, unconquered by anyone in the camp. John had left the wooden box containing the weights beside the base, an invitation for anyone who wanted to try it on there own time. No one had.

Molly stared up at the tall wooden beam and suddenly, for the first time in her life, she understood what she had to do. If the John Watson wanted her to go home tomorrow, fine. He was right; if she was unprepared, she'd be risking her life and other men in the company. But she had to do something, anything, and succeed.

Placing her papers gently on the grass, she opened the box and strapped the weights to her wrists and began trying to climb the pole. She never got very far before she slipped off or lost momentum and began to slip down. Luckily the camp was settled in for the night and no one saw her attempts and failures.

After about an hour, when Molly was sitting on the grass out of breath and scowling at the pole, Sherlock appeared beside her.

"Trying to climb the pole?" Sherlock asked, staring down at her.

"Thought you of all people could figure that out," Molly snapped.

Sherlock straightened, just a bit. "I doubt they'll let you back in just because you can climb a dead tree."

Molly sighed. "I'm not trying for them."

Sherlock paused, a bit unsure. "I... I can't make those any lighter. Unfortunately."

"It's fine, I wanted to-" Molly began, beginning to explain herself before she glanced sharply at him. "Why not?"

"The weights are made of silver," Sherlock said, nodding at them. "My powers don't affect silver. It also works as a container- if I'm forced to wear silver chains or a collar, I loose my powers."

"Oh," Molly said. "Bet you avoid silver pendants like the plague then."

"Quite," Sherlock agreed, an amused twist to his mouth. "Well, Molly, I'll leave you to your reflection."

"Thank you Sherlock," Molly called after him, knowing that leaving here was the end to his freedom too. She'd have to be firm on the way home- no letting him trick her into going somewhere else.

She tried for a couple more hours to climb, although, when the moon was high in the sky she let herself curl up and meditate. It was better than doubting herself, anyway. It wasn't until it was almost dawn, and the farthest reaching rays of the sun were just beginning to lick at the dark blue of the night, when a frustrated Molly ran at the pole. When she threw her arms around the pole, the weights clinked together, wrapping the straps tight against each other. Molly pulled back slightly, and found that they made a sling.

If she slid them up while pinching her knees around the pole, and then leaned back and used the tension of the straps to give her some leverage, she could slide up the pole. Excitement bloomed in her chest and she quickly tested her idea. It worked.

Slide and pull. Slide and pull. Slowly, Molly inched upwards.

The camp was just beginning to stir and Molly was halfway up when someone noticed her.

"Sherringford!" Sebastian called, attracting the attention of the tents around her. "What're you doing up there?"

"Climbing!" Molly bit back, gaining another couple of inches. The high up she got the more men gathered in the field, and by the time she was a few feet away from the top a cheering crowd had formed.

"Keep going!" Donovan yelled when Molly lost her footing, just for a second. "You can do it!"

The men where yelling now, cheering with whistles. As the sun hit her brow, Molly finally threw the weights over the top and pulled herself up, twisting until she could sit on it flat end. The men below burst into applause, whooping and cheering. She was the first to reach the top.

"What's going on?" Watson's voice carried from the edge of the field as he emerged from the tents, staring at the collected men.

"Sherringford did it, sir," Anderson explained, a grin on even his face. "He climbed the pole!"

The captain looked up at her, squinting against the morning light. Then, for the first time, Molly saw a smile creep onto his face.

"Well done, Sherringford," he called up. "Take a rest and then meet us for midmorning exercises."

"Yes sir!" Molly shouted back, before throwing back her head and laughing up at the sky.


	6. Investigations and Introductions

Sherlock was poking through tents while everyone was off in the training field, seeing if there was anything interesting in the soldier's belongings. Most of it was standard fare- a little extra rations, armor they weren't using for the drill, even letters or portraits of family members for the wealthier trainees. Sherlock slipped out of Donovan's tent with a knowing smirk on his face, glancing around to see if anyone had seen the movement of the tent flap.

Lady Anthea was walking in his direction, but her eyes were studying her ever-present notes. Sherlock turned to lift the flap of Sebastian's tent when the lady spoke.

"I can see you, you know."

Sherlock paused, turning his head to see if she was looking at him. She was. "Oh?"

"You're invisible to everyone else," Anthea continued, smiling pleasantly, "I'm just able to see your kind."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "And you're-"

"Human," Anthea confirmed.

"Than I highly doubt-"

"I have this," Anthea replied, drawing a pendant from underneath her collar. Sherlock scrutinized the silver piece, his eyes memorizing the exact positioning of the silver whorls. "What do you call yourself?"

"Sherlock Holmes," he replied. The name was really for effect, he had been called many things, but it was the most recent and he did like the way it sounded.

Anthea looked surprised, than pleased. "Oh. Lovely."

"You've heard of me?" Sherlock asked, pleased with himself.

Anthea's eyes were back on her book. "I've heard all about you. So Sherringford is a Hooper after all, if you're attached to him."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "How did you know about that?"

Anthea smiled brightly. "Your archenemy told me."

"So I was right," Sherlock said, absolutely not pouting. "The King is the same Mycroft."

"Be glad I found you," Anthea replied. "We have reason to believe there's a double agent in this company, and since no one had ever heard of a the young master Hooper, we thought Sherringford had stolen his enlistment papers. I was ordered to have him investigated."

Sherlock frowned. "Mycroft is worried about a company of trainees being infiltrated? Is he actually losing the war?"

"We haven't been engaged in any battles yet," Anthea explained. "We don't know the bulk of Prince Moriarty's army."

"I haven't heard of Prince Moriarty," Sherlock said thoughtfully.

"Neither did we, until our eastern walls were burned to the ground overnight. No one's seen the man's army- he's like a ghost."

"Must be driving Mycroft mad not to have his usually unholy advantage," Sherlock mused, grinning gleefully.

"And how's your hundred years in the country been?" Anthea asked lightly. Sherlock scowled, wondering just _where_ his brother had found this woman. There was shouting from the training field, and men began to appear at the edge of the tents, wearily trudging towards the mess tent.

"Well I'd love to stay and chat, but I'd hate to make the men see you talking to thing air. Until next time, Lady Anthea." Sherlock gave a small, mocking bow, before he turned on his heel and disappeared behind a row of tents. He pretended he couldn't hear Lady Anthea chuckling.

He spent the rest of the afternoon testing how far away from camp he could go (which wasn't very far, he could barely make it to the small pond about fifty yards from the camp's border. He returned to Molly's tent, raising an eyebrow when he found her inside, smiling brightly to herself.

"You seem happy," Sherlock commented, dropping onto her pallet. She jumped a bit, still not used to his dramatic entrances, but only nodded when she saw who it was.

"Apparently climbing up a 'dead tree' is all I needed to be a man," Molly replied. "Anderson actually invited me to sit with his group for meals."

"Is that the one trying to grow a beard?" Sherlock asked, making a face. "He looks like a woodsman."

"And how has your day been?" Molly asked, blissfully ignoring him.

"Interesting," Sherlock conceded before sitting up so he could look at her properly. "What have they told you about Prince Moriarty?"

"What, the man who attacked our borders?" Molly asked, giving him a slightly bewildered look. "He's a disinherited prince from a few countries away who wants to take over. We're fighting for the King and the country."

"The King will be here long after this kingdom has been dissolved," Sherlock said, unimpressed. "And that's all you need to lay down your life? A few hazy details before you've committed yourself to war?"

"We can't all be immortal geniuses who control magic," Molly said, rolling her eyes. "It's a bit difference for us lowly humans."

"Shouldn't you be too tired for sarcasm? The captain worked you hard enough?"

Molly seemed about to continue, but there was a familiar clearing of the throat from outside the tent.

"Sherringford," the captain's voice said, patient and just a bit suspicious as it came in through the flaps, "Who are you talking to?"

Sherlock quickly shook his head when Molly glanced at him- no, he wasn't invisible or unheard at the moment, because he didn't think to do so inside the tent. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! People do love to gossip, they would have asked questions if there was an unfamiliar voice in Molly's tent, her alto ego had been such a sensation ever since she arrived-_

Sherlock quickly strode out of the tent, leaving Molly to scramble after him. When the captain saw him, his eyes narrowed. He had never seen this man anywhere near his camp before, and Sherlock suspected John prided himself on knowing some detail about every man he trained.

"Who is this?" he asked, but Sherlock responded before Molly could put her foot in her mouth again.

"Sherlock Holmes, I'm Sherringford's guardian, his parents wanted me to look after him," he replied, smiling at him. "And you must be Captain John Watson."

"Yes," John said after a moment. "It's very nice you're trying to follow Sir Hooper's wishes, but you can't just hang about the camp doing nothing but watching him."

"Oh, I wasn't planning on it. I understand one of your doctors had to quit?"

John raised an eyebrow. "You're a doctor?"

"I can heal, yes," Sherlock replied, which was near enough to the truth. "I come recommended, if you don't want to trust my honor. I believe Lady Anthea is staying with the company?"

"She'll recommend you?" John asked doubtfully.

"Oh, I'm sure she'd love for me to accompany you to the King's City after training is done," Sherlock replied, very much hoping Molly wasn't assigned to guard the castle once they arrived. The last thing he wanted was Mycroft sending Molly off on different assignments just to force Sherlock to do some work.

"Right," John said after a moment. "Okay. I'll introduce you to everyone else in the morning. In the mean time, where are you staying?" He glanced at Molly's tent, then back at the two of them. "Are you-"

"It's not like that!" Molly blurted out, terrified that John would figure out her secret. "I mean, he was just popping in for a chat, he's not actually spending the night!"

"Sherringford," John said gently, as Sherlock rolled his eyes, trying to will her quiet. "Whatever you do after hours, as long as you obey my orders, is fine. It's all fine."

"Well," Sherlock said, trying to subtly herd Molly into the tent before she said something stupid, "I will see you in the morning, John."

"Captain," he corrected. Even Lady Anthea didn't call him by his first name.

"Good night," came Sherlock's bored reply. John sighed before he walked away from Sherringford's tent, unable to shake the feeling that Sherlock was a bit more than he had bargained for.


	7. Pondering and Plotting

**A/N: I have not forgotten this I swear! My semester started back up again, so things were a bit hairy for a while. I also might be catching the little bit of illness that's been making its rounds through the dorms, but at least being stuck in bed will give me more time to write!**

* * *

Camp with a visible Sherlock didn't exactly change for Molly. If anything it got a bit better, because she was the only one who could stand him or come even close to reasoning with him. (Although, Molly was beginning to think that Captain Watson would soon earn that position, seeing as Sherlock seemed to be genuinely fascinated with him. Watson was the same way, but everyone was too respectful towards Watson and too scared of Sherlock to mention it)

"How did your family stand him?" Captain John asked Molly one day after afternoon training. Sherlock had spent the entire practice pointing out every error he had ever observed. Molly didn't doubt he had been longing to say them ever since the very first day.

"He's just always been around the house," she replied innocently. "I don't think he's changed much, over the years."

"The other doctors tell me Sherlock's a wonder for the tricky cases, horrible injury or mystery illnesses," he said after a moment. "But they also said that he's not to go anywhere near the tent unless they call for him. They said he started doing experiments when he was bored."

"That's Sherlock all over." Molly thought back to all the odd little things they'd find at the estate. Eventually they just decided it was the work of fairies and other spirits, and Mama would always be sure to leave out milk and little bits of shiny jewelry. They were always gone the next day, and Molly hid a sudden smirk, knowing it all must've been Sherlock.

Watson glanced at her, a bit cautious. "He isn't- I know he's a friend of yours, but- there's nothing _wrong _with him is there?"

"No," Molly replied, easily and honestly. "He means well, in the end. He understands things, and he understands people's motives, but I don't think he's every been able to grasp humanity. And since the rest of us are so stupid to him, that inability to instantly know us is frustrating."

"He does seem to be a bit above it all, doesn't he?" Watson asked. Molly just smiled.

* * *

"They've completed their training," Watson confessed to Sherlock one night in the Officer's tent. They had taken to talking there, because Sherlock was usually right about his critiques, so Watson was willing to listen to him when the recruits weren't within earshot. Sherlock was always right, but he never graceful about his observations.

Sherlock's eyes lit up. "When are we joining the main forces?"

"We're not." Watson offered him a glass of alcohol, which Sherlock waved away. Watson frowned, because he had never actually seen the other man consume anything. "Lady Anthea refuses to report us as ready for battle. She said we weren't subtle enough for the King's tastes. As if war has ever been subtle."

"The King does try to be indiscreet," Sherlock muttered underneath his breath. "So we're just hanging about the camp? Until we're called upon?"

"The bulk of the King's forces are either at the King's City or at Richenbach Pass. The rest are just small companies like us, mostly assigned to protecting vulnerable border towns. We'll likely be ordered to one of the villages on the Southern border."

Sherlock frowned, thinking of the dull years of occupation in a small, boring, and offensively warm village. If he thought it would help, he'd contact Mycroft himself and ask for a favor to avoid that fate. Knowing Mycroft, of course, he'd argue that allowing him to remain with the company as long as he did (Sherlock wasn't a fool, he knew Anthea would have reported him the moment she discovered his name) was a favor enough. He's summon them to the King's City. Sherlock knew his brother, knew his methods and-

"Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. He had seen Lady Anthea's little book, seen how it was enchanted and likely linked to another book in Mycroft's possession where he could read her reports directly. It would be easy to interfere with the spell a bit, if he did it subtly enough that neither one would notice. It was worth a try, at any rate.

"What?" Watson asked suspiciously. That was the smile that ended with Anderson mysteriously infected with lice and being forced to shave his beard. No one could prove Sherlock was behind it, but the little note left on the man's pillow and Sherlock's gleeful smirk the next day confirmed everyone's suspicions. Some of the men called Sherlock freak behind his back, although they only did it in Watson's earshot once.

"Nothing," Sherlock said, already making a list of what ingredients he would have to steal. "I just remembered some interesting things I found in some of the men's tents."

"Sherlock, that's personal," Watson said with a groan. "I told you you can't just go into their tents."

"I don't see why not," Sherlock sniffed dismissively. "If they wanted any rights or privacy, they shouldn't have joined the army."

"What? That's not the atmosphere- you can't just-" Watson narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "I am going to explain to you, right now, why what you just said was wrong."

"Please," Sherlock scoffed, buying himself another five minutes of Watson's ranting. Which was exactly what he wanted, because by the time Watson was done speaking, he had forgotten all about Sherlock's plotting.

Three days later, when Lady Anthea rushed up to Watson waving an "Official" order around, Sherlock tried made sure he didn't look _too_ pleased.


	8. Dealing with Death

As John Watson's men packed up camp and marched towards the King's City, Prince Moriarty was nestled in the mountains, eyeing a sleepy village that was currently hosting the King's Army. His plans were perfect- he only had to wait until nightfall before he made his move.

"The Woman's here, Sir," a man called from outside his tent.

Moriarty grinned. "Send her in."

He wasn't a fool; King Mycroft had spent a good thirty years building this Kingdom. He wasn't about to let it fall to a human, all of people. So he made contacts, made sure certain people owed him favors, and preyed upon the one weakness of almost all spirits: They were forced to keep their word.

A beautiful woman entered his tent. Her long red dress stood stark against the snow that swirled around in the mountains, and she lightly brushed it off her shoulders. No cloak covered her shoulders- for a creature like herself, the temperature meant almost nothing. "Who has summoned me here?"

"James Moriarty." He held out a ruby necklace. It was rather gaudy, the stones making it cumbersome and heavy, but the Woman was more than strong enough. It was an offering, one that had taken him quite some time acquiring.

"The man who thinks he can defeat King Mycroft," the Woman said as she accepted the gift. "He has not been bested in a very long time. You are the only human who has ever had the chance."

"I've heard that a lot," Moriarty said.

The Woman smiled at him, almost in amusement. "Why have you summoned me?"

"I would like to offer you a deal."

"What could you possibly offer me?" The Woman asked, raising an eyebrow. "I am not interested in your men. They would willingly do whatever you asked of them. I rather like a challenge."

"I will give you the Northern portion of the Kingdom, should I succeed," Moriarty offered. "I heard a man once wronged you there. I thought you'd rather like him back."

"I arranged it so he was trapped on a rural estate," The Woman said, but her smile turned genuine. "It was a bit of petty revenge, but being able to claim him would be even better."

"You agree to help me?" The Woman had already made her mind, but Moriarty wasn't going to buck tradition. The magical creatures of the world did love their rules so.

"I will tell you how to defeat Mycroft and arrange for him to be delivered to you," The Woman said. "To this end, I will accompany you to the King's City, and assure that you live long enough to bring Mycroft to his knees."

"I accept your proposal, though you needn't protect me from Mycroft's little human army," Moriarty smirked. "I will massacre them easily. Would you like me to leave some survivors for you to snack on?"

"You are too accommodating."

"Would you like my men to worship you, or-"

"No. Mycroft will know I'm coming if they know my true identity." The Woman paused, deciding upon a name. "Tell them I am Lady Irene Adler. I haven't been her for a while."

"Of course, my Lady," Moriarty replied, bowing deeply to her. He grinned, already tasting blood and victory on his tongue.


	9. The Battle of Richenbach

**A/N: Hey guys! I'm so sorry for the delay in updates. I've had some RL problems and I've only just been able to start writing again. I've made it a goal to have this story finished within the week, so keep an eye on it! We're in the home stretch! **

**And thank you so much for all the lovely reviews. I'm glad everyone's enjoying this story, and I hope the trend continues!**

* * *

As mundane as marching was to the soldiers, Sherlock seemed to enjoy it. Molly supposed it was because he ended up riding Toby half the time, and she didn't think he had to put up with sore muscles and aching feet. He also seemed to be in a much better mood; maybe the changing landscape supplemented with the many possibilities of conversation fellows (however reluctant they may be. Molly and Watson were still the only ones who would willingly talk to him, although Lady Anthea would during the rare periods she wasn't scratching away in her book) kept him from being bored. Molly was beginning to wish this wasn't going to end, because while she missed Mama and Papa fiercely, traveling about was actually quite fun. People never gave her disappointed looks behind her back or whispered rumors. (Mean-spirited rumors, anyway, because it never escaped anyone's notice that Sherlock still sometimes would visit her tent even though he never actually appeared to sleep).

Molly glanced up to the head of the wagon, where Toby was effortlessly pulling the high cart filled with explosives up the mountain pass. The rest of the army was stationed on the other side of Richenbach Pass, just beyond a small mountain town. John trudged ahead on his own horse, sitting up just a bit straighter with each step. He'd have to impress his superiors if they were to be taken seriously.

Molly sighed, turning to Sherlock to ask him if he was going to spend the rest of the day exploring the new camp, just as his head whipped to stare up the pass.

"Sherlock?"

"Something's wrong." His voice was soft, but his eyes narrowed. "I can't put my finger on it."

"Wrong?" Molly glanced at the towering mountain peak behind them. "Are we in danger of an avalanche?"

"The town!" someone shouted, pointing to a swinging sign left on one of the few trees that lined the path.

"Everyone fall into ranks," John ordered from the front. As they shuffled into formation, Molly grinned at her friends. Even Anderson smiled back.

"Finally we can stop walking," he whispered. "We'll have some free time that isn't wasted on sleep."

"Sleep is never wasteful," Donovan teased, tightening his hair band. Molly laughed in response, nestling her helmet underneath her arm. John's horses plodded along in front of them, while Toby and Sherlock trudged to their left.

Sherlock hissed, sitting straight up on Toby's back as they rounded the corner. The smell of fire filled the air, causing everyone to stumble to a stop as they found its source.

The town of Richenbach was nearly burnt to the ground, the buildings reduced to ashes and embers. A few flags and signs flapped in the wind, but there was no sign of life. No sign of the people of the town, or the army residing here.

"Spread out," John barked into the shocked silence. "Look for survivors."

Sherlock slid off Toby and shoved the reigns into Molly's hands, leaving her alone with John.

"I don't understand," John said. "The army was supposed to be here. My father-"

"Your father?" Molly asked, fear biting at her throat.

"He was the general," John replied, finally looking at her. Even though his face was a captain's neutral mask, Molly could see his own fear swirling around his eyes.

"Captain!" Anderson shouted from a bank at the edge of town. His voice sounded scared.

The entire company rushed to the bank and stopped, frozen in shock.

There, spread out before them as the mountains began to slope downward, was the remainder of King Mycroft's army. Bodies were strewn about the snow, like breadcrumbs thrown to birds. A few tattered flags flapped in the icy breeze, the only sound in the destruction.

John stood ramrod straight, his sharp eyes turning over every exposed face he could manage. The few men who had found the remains first slowly made their way through, checking fruitlessly for survivors. Finally Sebastian slowly made his way up the bank, a helmet tucked under his arm.

"The general," he said quietly, handing it to John. The captain nodded, his hands shaking ever so slightly as they took the helmet. He turned it over in his hands gently before his eyes closed. Molly crossed the distance between herself and Sherlock and squeezed his hand tightly, knowing no one's attention would be on them.

"Thank you," she whispered fiercely, blinking back years. "I'll forever be in your debt."

"Oh?" Sherlock asked, glancing down at her. "Why is that?"

"My father would have been here," Molly replied. She stared out at the field, at the shocked figures of their company, at the men who were slowly realizing that most of the army lay dead at their feet. John was not the only one who came from an army family. "He'd be dead if you hadn't convinced me to come."

"Yes," Sherlock said slowly. "That's true."

"It's worth it." Molly nodded her head sharply. "Even if I die now, I'll know it was worth it."

Sherlock squeezed her hand once more before going to stand beside John.

"Moriarty did this," John said flatly.

"Yes," Sherlock agreed. "And in another day he'll do this to the King's City."

John wheeled around to face him. "This was most of the army," he realized. "The King will have no defenses."

"Captain!" Lady Anthea shouted, running up to them, her book flapping open beside her. "Something's wrong!"

Sherlock glanced at the way her fingers clung to the pages. "The magic isn't working?"

"Magic?" John repeated.

Anthea nodded. "King Mycroft gave me this so that I may have instant communication with him. The book is enchanted, linked to an identical journal the King keeps on him at all times. But I can't get any response. Something is blocking the charm."

"Was it Mycroft's personal spell?" Sherlock demanded. When Anthea nodded, Sherlock hissed in a breath.

"Moriarty has help."

"Help?"

"Supernatural. Quite powerful, if it can interfere with Mycroft's magic."

"The King has magic?" John repeated.

"It won't do him any good- he doesn't know Moriarty's coming," Sherlock muttered. "He won't be looking for him either. He's grown too arrogant."

"We're the only ones who know," John realized. "Move out!"

"What?" Sebastian shouted back. "What are we going to do?"

"Your job as a soldier?" Sherlock suggested.

"He already massacred the royal army!" Sebastian protested. "We've only just finished training!"

"Trainees die just like seasoned soldiers," John bit back. "And they fight just as hard. Move out."

Molly's fingers tightened around Toby's reigns as Sherlock slowly returned.

"Sherlock?" She whispered.

"I'll do my best to protect you, Molly," Sherlock promised after a moment. "But do me a favor and don't do anything stupid."

"Okay," Molly agreed, noting the distracted way his attention seemed to bounce around. The cold air was eerie as they moved around the carnage, continuing through the pass. Molly closed her eyes, but the images were burned there as well. The company walked in silence.

The path began to spread out as they began the decent, coming to a wide clearing of snow. There were towering peaks on either side- perfect for an ambush, but not even Sherlock had spotted anything suspicious. John urged them forward. They were a day or so behind Moriarty's men, and the King's City had nothing to warn them. Even if the City was sealed off in time, there were still a few miles of villages and farms that would be wiped out on the long march.

A bang from the wagon filled the relative silence of the pass. A rocket whipped by, causing even Toby to startle. It shot up above them, showering their progress with sparks. Molly whipped around to stare at Anderson, Donovan, and Sebastian as they stood wide-eyed beside the still smoking wagon.

"Who did that?" John demanded, thundering up to them. "Our position was just compromised! They-"

An arrow flew out of nowhere and into John's shoulder. He fell backwards out of his horse, crying out as he curled to protect his shoulder.

"Get out of range!" He shouted as another shower of arrows fell down upon them. Men scrambled to put on their helmets as Molly and Sherlock ran to John's side.

"Did it hit?" Sherlock demanded, getting the shoulders off of John's armor. The arrow had wedged itself just so, exactly where the weakness was. It was a supernaturally lucky shot, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "If I remove this you'll bleed out."

"Leave me with some gunpowder," John said after a moment. "I'll take some of them with me."

Sherlock stared at him. "Don't be stupid."

Molly glanced up, noting that men were scrambling for protection and supplies. No one was paying them the slightest bit of attention anymore. Toby appeared beside them, bringing them under the shelter of the wagon as he glanced at the arrows in irritation. It seemed Sherlock had provided them with a horse that was invincible. Quite handy, Molly had to admit.

"No one's looking," she whispered to Sherlock. "No one will see."

"What?" John asked, trying to look suspicious even as he grimaced in pain. Sherlock glanced quickly at her before leaning down so he could look John in the eye.

"Captain, do you trust me? Even if you think you shouldn't, after?"

"What are you talking about?" John asked. "Are you going to fall apart now that we're under pressure? I wouldn't' have thought you of all people would do that."

"_John_," Sherlock hissed urgently. "Do. You. Trust. Me?"

"Yes," John said after a long moment. "Every time."

"This will hurt," Sherlock said, placing his hands on either side of the arrow. "Molly, pull this out."

"Right," Molly said, grasping the wooden shaft and pulling. John chocked out a sob of pain, but Sherlock was already murmuring under his breath in that strange language of his, his pale fingers fluttering in ways Molly couldn't exactly track even as she watched John's skin knit back together.

"What?" John gasped, staring down at his healed shoulder as Sherlock withdrew his time.

"It was a quick job, I couldn't prevent the scarring. But it'll do."

John stared at him, his expression worried between amazed, confused, and suspicious. "What was-"

"Fire!" Donovan shouted as she reappeared from the other side of the wagon. "They've lit the arrows!"

"Get the wagon out of range!" John shouted, snapping back into command mode as he scrambled upright. Molly grabbed Toby's reigns and led him forward, Sherlock following close behind.

They only made it about seven yards before some flaming arrows caught the top of the wagon, the cloth beginning to smolder as the flames tried to spread.

John glanced back, as he found a rocky outcrop on the other side of the slope that would afford them some protection. "Save the cannons!"

They formed a chain, grabbing all the cannons they could before the flames drew too close to the powder. Molly cut Toby free as everyone scrambled for protection, the only thing protecting her from the blast was Sherlock, who appeared beside her with one hand outstretched as they crouched in the smoke. The first round of rescued cannons was fired into the archer's peaks, dark bodies dropping from the mountain as they picked off Moriarty's fighters. Molly and Sherlock fell back behind the line of cannons, watching the horizon closely.

"Hold the last cannon," John ordered Sebastian as the soldier's hands paused over his flint. They squinted at the top of the slope where the smoke from the cannons curled. Finally the winds shifted and they could see a dark figure atop a hulking horse, grinning down at them from the top of the slope. A silver crown glinted from the top of his head.

"Aim for Moriarty," John said as Moriarty started his charge. His army poured over the lip of the slope, hundreds of men running full tilt towards their little company.

"Prepare to fight," John called calmly. He drew his sword and turned towards his men, trying to meet each of their eyes. "If we die today, than we die with honor."

Sherlock seemed to flare beside Molly, probably drawing up whatever energy he could. They needed it, but Molly knew it wouldn't do them any good when she died and Sherlock was snapped back to the farm. There was no way for Sherlock to take all of them out, especially if the supernatural help was still with Moriarty's army. Nothing could take out the entire mountain slope like they needed short of an avalanche.

Molly's eyes snapped to a promising peak, the yells of the advancing horde already causing a bit of snow to slide down. Completely harmless amounts, unless... Molly surged forward before she had a chance to talk herself out of it, grabbing the cannon from Sebastian pushing past John before anyone had a chance to stop her.

"Sherringford!" John called after her, but Molly ignored him as she ran towards Moriarty. She wanted to give the company a chance to run for shelter as soon as the avalanche started, and she planted the cannon in the snow as soon as she reached an acceptable distance.

Moriarty was still riding towards her, an amused smirk twisting his face as he began to raise his sword. Molly's fingers found her flint and raised up her hand to start the spark. An icicle cut through the air, slicing open the top of her hand as her tools went flying.

"No!" Molly cried, ignoring the bleeding of her hand as she groped for the flint.

"Molly, what are you doing?" Sherlock demanded as he crashed to the ground next to her, healing her hand with a touch. "You're going to get yourself killed!"

"Light this," Molly hissed back, looking up in time to see Moriarty drawing even closer. Her helmet was back on the outcropping- she had nothing to protect herself against his sword.

"Your plan better work," Sherlock muttered, snapping his fingers to the fuse. Molly quickly took aim as Moriarty closed the final few yards.

The cannon flew upwards past him, startling Moriarty's horse but arching into the air.

"You missed." Sherlock turned to her, the red flush of his cheeks against the cold air making his wild eyes even sharper. "How could you _miss?" _

"I didn't," Molly announced, looking past Moriarty as the cannon hit the snowy peak with a muted thump. The snow crumpled in on itself before sliding down, raining down on Moriarty's army below. Sherlock looked past the peak, spotting a figure in red withdrawing from the rest of the army, neatly sliding out of harms way as it slid away from the pass.

Moriarty turned with a snarl, his sword flashing through the air before either Molly or Sherlock could react. He caught Molly against her middle and she felt herself get knocked to the ground as pain flared across her midsection, but she was up and running before he was able to reign in his horse. Sherlock pounded after, keeping a careful eye on the advancing wave of snow.

Molly could see John a little a head of them, obviously having followed when Molly and Sherlock jumped ranks, Donovan, Anderson, and Sebastian behind him but much close enough to the outcropping that they were able to run for shelter.

Toby bounded up to them and Molly swung herself aboard. She turned to reach for Sherlock and John when the snow knocked her over, baring down with an incredible pressure. She hung onto Toby, praying that Sherlock's summoning abilities wouldn't fail them now.

They didn't. Toby broke through to the surface, treading the snow as if it was water. Molly looked around wildly, catching sight of John and Sherlock farther down the slope.

"Toby!" she exclaimed, wheeling him around after them. Sherlock's face was even paler than normal, his teeth gritted together when she reached them.

"I'm trying to slow down the avalanche but I don't think I can hold out much longer," he hissed. Molly heaved John's prone (thankfully alive but unconscious) body in front of her, trying to keep him from sliding off. Sherlock clamored on behind her as they slid over the edge with the final wave of snow.

"Sherlock!" Molly screamed as they began to tip to the side, nothing but empty air beneath them.

Sherlock threw up his hands and they jerked to a stop as if a rope caught them. Beneath them the snow continued to pour down as they slowly began to rise upwards. By the time they reached the cliff the snow had settled and the company trickled out of the various shelters they had found, gathering round as Sherlock tried to lift them the last few feet.

Finally Toby's hooves found solid ground and Molly half-fell off the saddle as hands helped Sherlock and John down.

The Captain finally opened his eyes as they found their knees on the cold, wet ground, gasping for air.

"Back up," Donovan ordered the closest members of the company. "Give them some air."

"The two of you," John gasped at them as Sherlock sprawled on the snow and Molly leaned over to check on him, "Are two of the craziest, brilliant men I have ever met. I owe you a debt and my friendship."

"Are we keeping score?" Sherlock murmured, his eyes drifting closed. "We can discuss it when I wake up."

"Sherlock?" Molly grabbed his shoulder tightly. "Are you okay?"

" 'm fine," Sherlock replied, waving her hands away. "Haven't used that much power in a while. Just need to recharge."

"Sweet dreams," Molly replied with a barely-hidden chuckle as he drifted asleep. "I didn't realize he actually slept like the rest of us."

"Quite refreshing," John agreed, holding out a hand to help Molly up. She reached up to accept it, feeling much heavier as the adrenaline left her body, before the numbness in her side melted away and Moriarty's wound flared sharply into her senses.

She felt herself fall as her hands flew to the wound, the pain returning with a vengeance. Molly had time to glance at the blood on her hand before John and Anderson were slowly lowering her to the ground and Donovan was shouting for one of the company doctors. She couldn't fall asleep, Molly knew, but as a new wave of pain drew her into unconsciousness, she couldn't remember why.


	10. Dismissed and Disgraced

Molly blinked herself awake as the someone slid a blanket up to her chin. She squinted up, the only light coming from the weak afternoon sun.

"Doctor Sanford," Molly murmured, turning to look beside her. Sherlock was still, but she could see his chest drift up and down. "Is everyone all right? How long have I been out?"

"Yes, somehow. Most miraculous," Doctor Sanford glanced at her again. "You've been asleep for almost twenty-four hours. You where lucky. The cut wasn't too deep and infection hasn't set in."

"Thank god," Molly agreed, running her hand lightly over the bandage as she sat up, the blanket slipping from her shoulders.

"The captain will want to see you know that you're awake," Sanford said, quickly turning to exit the tent. "I'll go fetch him."

"Sherlock," Molly whispered when he was gone. "Are you awake?"

"No," Sherlock grunted. Molly grinned and poked him in the shoulder.

"Liar," she replied cheerfully as he rolled over to face him.

His eyes opened and his expression froze. "I called you Molly."

"It is my name," Molly agreed, running her fingers along the bandage. Tightly wrapped, but it wasn't that uncomfortable.

"No," Sherlock hissed, throwing off his blanket and sitting upright. "When I was healing John after the arrow hit his shoulder. I called you Molly."

"You-" Panic began to tug at Molly's stomach. "Just say it's a family nickname. Make up a story where I wore wear a dress when I was four and the name stuck."

Sherlock's eyes dropped to her chest. "It's too late."

Molly followed his gaze. The bandages covered her torso and chest completely, the cloth coming just under her arms. There was no way Sanford couldn't have seen her breasts.

"Sherlock," Molly whispered. "What do we do?"

John pushed back the tent flap and glared hard at them as he stepped inside. "Telling the truth would be a start."

"Captain-" Molly began as Sherlock said, "John-"

"Oh no," John said sharply, pointing at Sherlock. "You don't get to call me that."

"You said I was your friend," Sherlock replied tightly.

"Yes, and I thought you were. But it turns out you've been lying to me. You're not even human, you're some kind of-"

"I saved your life," Sherlock cut in. "I saved everyone's life, even Anderson's!"

"Why didn't you tell me?" John demanded.

Sherlock scoffed. "Oh yes, I should have just walked up to you and said, 'Hello, my name is Sherlock Holmes. I'm not human and I have powers you couldn't possibly understand. Will you let me stay with your little army?' I'm sure you would've welcomed me with open arms."

John frowned, but it was a deeper one, the one he got when he was beginning to think a little bit more.

"And you?" he asked, turning to Molly, "What are you?"

"I'm human, sir. My name is Molly Hooper. I- I really did come here to replace my father."

"Your father would be better suited to the army than you sneaking your way in," John said harshly.

"My father would've died in Richenbach village," Molly said, her eyes flashing. "I'm sorry I had to lie to you, captain, but I'm not sorry I saved his life."

"We're ready, sir," Sebastian called from outside the tent. John hesitated, before he handed Molly a bundle of clothes.

"Get dressed," John told her as he turned away to leave. "We still have to decide what to do with you."

"The law technically calls for you to be executed," Sherlock said, finally breaking the silence John left in his wake. "But I don't think they will. And if they do, I'll... take care of you."

"Thank you," Molly said, quietly, earnestly, nervously. The clothes John gave her were only a pair of breeches and a tunic, so Sherlock gave her his heavy coat to keep her from shivering. Just as Molly suspected, the cold didn't affect him any. She knew he wore it only for effect.

The rest of the company waited silently outside the tent. Whatever camp they had set up had already been taken down- Molly's tent was the only thing still standing. As Molly and Sherlock emerged, some of the men looked away while others stared at them. Molly looked towards her friends, trying to gauge their reactions. Anderson looked a bit grim and confused. Sebastian was smug and just a bit malicious, and Molly couldn't even make sense of Donovan's expression.

"Molly Hooper and Sherlock... Holmes," Lady Anthea called from her horse. Her book was balanced on her lap, quill in hand. "You are charged with impersonating a soldier and deceiving your commanding officer."

"Guilty, my Lady," Molly said, lifting her had and refusing to allow tears to come to her.

"Why'd you do it, then?" Sebastian demanded. "Dressing up like a man, trying to be a soldier. You caused an avalanche that nearly killed us!"

"It killed Moriarty and his men, didn't it?" Donovan bit back, glaring him. "Sher- Molly- charged that army on her own while the rest of us were cowering behind our swords!"

"That's enough," John snapped at the two of them, and they reluctantly lapsed into silence.

"What would you like to do, Captain?" Lady Anthea asked gently.

John was silent for a long moment before he turned to one of the men. "Give her enough supplies for her to reach her home and return her horse."

"What?" Sebastian exploded, gesturing wildly at Molly. "She broke the law, and you're going to let her go?"

"She saved all our lives, and Sherlock saved mine," John hissed, grabbing the front of Sebastian's coat and pulling him forward. "If the King wants to punish them more than he will, but I am dismissing her from my company. And you will give her the supplies and then you will move out."

Sebastian stared at him for a long moment before he dropped his eyes. "Yes, sir."

"Move out!" John repeated, turning his back to them. Molly watched him go, feeling more helpless than she had in a long time as Anderson brought her rations and Donovan returned Toby without meeting her eyes. Neither Molly nor Sherlock spoke as the company began to lumber down the slope towards the King's City and out of sight.

"A fire," Sherlock said as Molly started shivering. "I'll make you a fire."

"You don't need to," Molly protested, wrapping Sherlock's coat tighter about her body. Toby bumped her crossed arms with his nose in concern.

"I didn't bring you this far just to freeze you to death," Sherlock replied mildly. Molly watched him summon a few pieces of wood before lighting the pile on fire.

"You're not..." Molly faltered just a bit, when Sherlock leveled his sharp gaze at her. He wasn't completely recovered, the dark circles under his eyes stark against his pale skin. "I mean, you're not normal. You're not human, and you don't try to act it, and most of the time you insult us and treat us like we're idiots-"

"Am I right to assume this has a point, somewhere?"

"But I'm still glad. That even though we've got nowhere to go but down, I'm glad that I'm stuck here with you. You've protected me every step of the way just like you said you would and I- well, I just wanted to say thank you. For.. for everything, really."

"With a talent like that you should be a speechwriter for Mycroft," Sherlock said, but the corner of his mouth drifted up ever so slightly. "And you were a relatively decent traveling companion."

Molly smiled and hugged him anyway. Sherlock patted her back once, allowing her the contact for a short moment, before he shrugged her off and turned back to the fire. Molly slowly sat herself down with a sigh, leaning back against Toby when he lumbered down to rest behind her. Molly nodded off there, waking up while the morning was still dark with a blanket around her shoulders. Sherlock handed her some bread and a bit of dried meat out of the rations for her to eat before he healed the wound on her waist.

"John's shoulder will have scarring," Sherlock said afterwards, somewhat regretfully. "I didn't have the time to do it properly."

"I'm sure he appreciates it anyway," Molly said, peering at him from across the fire.

"Not now," Sherlock replied darkly. Molly continued to watch him, an odd thought occurring to her. When they had first met, Sherlock was dismissive towards her, if somewhat eager to get her into the army. But now... well, now they were friends, no matter what Sherlock said. And he wasn't an easy friend, but he did seem to care about her. It was in his best interests and all that, but Molly had a feeling that she was on the very short list of People Sherlock Will Tolerate.

"Sherlock," Molly began, thinking of the other person on that list, the one that had dismissed them and was marching back to the city, when Sherlock sat up ramrod straight.

"Quiet," he hissed, turning around to peer into the dark-grey horizon. "Did you hear that?"

Molly started to shake her head before it sounded again, a deep crack of a bell. They scrambled upright as Sherlock extinguished the fire with a wave of his hand. The two of them cautiously crept forward, pressing themselves against some large boulders and a few wayward pines as they tried to see down the pass.

As the sun crept higher into the sky, the clearer they could make out the figure of a woman in red. She raised her arms once more and said a Word, one that had Sherlock making an appreciative noise in the back of his throat while the metallic sound cracked through the mountain air once more. Suddenly bodies were clawing their way out of the snow. Most of them were faceless brutes, the kind you'd find in any army. But one was dark and slight as it dragged itself upwards and practically launched itself at the Woman.

"We had a deal," Moriarty hissed, fury radiating from ever pore. "You promised me that I'd win-"

"I promised to keep you alive until we reached the King's City, where I would tell you how to defeat Mycroft and deliver him to you. If you lose, it will be of your own fault. I have upheld our bargain," the Woman replied.

"My army is destroyed!" Moriarty roared.

The Woman's voice took a dangerous tone. "We never spoke of keeping your army intact. I saved your strongest men, even your little favorite in Watson's Company."

"You couldn't stop the avalanche?" Moriarty demanded.

The Woman shook her head. "I cannot hold back nature. There are rules that even I must follow. But these events are to your advantage."

Moriarty tipped his head, looking halfway between curiosity and murder. "Oh?"

"Now Mycroft will think you dead. He won't be looking for you and his defenses will be down. The City will be filled with celebration. It will be much easier sneaking in than trying to break your way through."

"Hmm." Moriarty's eyes narrowed in thought. "And the soldier with the cannon? Can you find him for me?"

"For a price," The Woman agreed, her dark eyes flashing. "You'll need to give me one man out of the army you'll acquire tomorrow."

"For you my dear? Anything," Moriarty promised before he turned to his men. He barked a few orders at them as The Woman raised her hands. They disappeared with a loud crack, leaving Sherlock and Molly alone in the cold mountain pass.


	11. The Past and the Present

**A\N: Hello everyone! Thank you so much to everyone who commented, I really do appreciate them. This is a shorter update, because a)The flow of the chapter ended up like this and b) I've caught a bug that's been going around so I haven't felt very well. I hope to have the next update up within 2 days! Thanks for reading everyone!**

* * *

For a frozen minute, Sherlock and Molly stared at the now empty pass in front of them. (That is to say, Molly stared at the empty pass. She was quite sure that Sherlock's thoughts were whirling about impossibly fast and his face had given up hope of keeping up.)

"Who was that?" Molly finally asked, when she thought Sherlock was close enough to the surface of his mind that he would hear her.

"The Woman," Sherlock replied, letting out a long, slow breath. "She's... well, she's like me."

"And what are you, exactly?" Molly asked. "I think we've reached the 'need to know' status."

Sherlock looked at her for a long moment, his pale eyes sizing her up. He had done it countless times before, but this was slightly different. He wasn't testing her strength, or her intentions. He was seeing if she was worthy, if she was trustworthy enough to earn the truth. Whatever Sherlock saw must have been convincing, because he nodded and began to explain.

"The world was once much different than it is today. There was more magic, for one. Much easier to access, and people were a great deal more familiar with it. Back then, people had gods."

"Gods?" Molly repeated. "As in, plural?"

"Pagan gods, yes. Before Christianity, the people here believed in pagans. As belief dwindled, so did the gods. Some became powerless and died while others tied themselves to specific areas of land. There's a forest god in the woods around your home, keeping enough magic in the area to keep some of the creatures there from dying. A select few, the cleverest, tied themselves to ideas and actions. So long as humans believed or participated in the ideals, they would retain power without limiting themselves to one area."

"Wait," Molly said, blinking at Sherlock. "Are you telling me you're a_ god_?"

"Former god," Sherlock corrected, "But yes."

"And she is too? And... Mycroft as well?"

"Mycroft was King of the gods, unfortunately," Sherlock said, a slightly pained and endlessly annoyed look crossing his face. "He tied himself to power and control. The Woman was a warrior goddess, and now she feeds off the aggression and violence of humans. Which, incidentally, doesn't leave her wanting for very much."

"And you?"

"Wisdom," Sherlock said, "And truth. People are always wishing to be a little bit cleverer and everyone wants to know the truth. Or at least they think they do, although they don't always like what they find."

"Right," Molly said. "I understand it, I think. But what is a warrior goddess doing with Moriarty? What deal did they make?"

"Something to do with Mycroft. Moriarty wants the crown and he's obviously cottoned on to the fact Mycroft isn't human. I'd like to know how to find her."

"She knew we were here," Molly pointed out. "Why didn't she go after us?"

"It depends on the terms of their deal."

"She promised Moriarty she'd find me for him. Why didn't she drag us out?"

"She knew we'd be going after her," Sherlock replied, gesturing to Toby. "I don't have the strength to bring all three of us to the City, not with the wards Mycroft has. Being your family guardian doesn't allow me to access all my power, something she made sure of when she told your ancestor how to bind me."

"She's the one who trapped you with my family? Why did she do that?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Towards the end, I still had some worshippers. A woman prayed to me to find out who killed her husband. A local hunting god was using humans for sport and attacked me when I confronted him. I had to kill him before finding out he was her lover. Mycroft was still in enough power to keep her from killing me, but she never forgot."

"How long ago was that?"

"A couple hundred years," Sherlock said, smirking slightly as Molly's eyebrows rose in shock. "We pagans love revenge."

"So if Mycroft's gone she can kill you for good?" Molly asked. "But... if she's after you but she knows we're both here, then who's the soldier in Mycroft's army she's after?"

Sherlock's brows furrowed before his spine stiffened. His eyes almost glowed and Molly took an involuntary step backwards.

"_John_," Sherlock breathed. "She's going after John."

"John?" Molly eyed Sherlock. "Are you two- is that why he was so upset about you lying?"

"John is not my lover," Sherlock snapped, a bit sorely. "But he's- he's John. And he's mine, and she's going after him!"

"Yours?" Molly repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Pagan," Sherlock muttered. "We're possessive."

"We have to warn them," Molly said, quickly throwing the blanket over Toby's back. "If we can get word to Mycroft, let the army know Moriarty's coming, then-"

"Molly, Moriarty and the Woman are already in the City. By the time we get there, they'll already have infiltrated the castle. She'll be expecting us, so we'll need to sneak in. To go directly to John and Mycroft-"

"We don't have any other choices, do we? I'm disgraced and your running on low energy. Is there any scenario that we have good chances?"

"No," Sherlock admitted.

"Then we'll only have one chance to protect John and the country. Do you think you can come up with a plan by the time we get to the City?"

"Easily," Sherlock replied, looking just a bit offended.

"Then I'll trust it. But we can't just wait, not with the country and John-"

Sherlock snapped his fingers and Molly found herself on a fully saddled Toby. She glanced over her shoulder to see the rations lying forgotten in the snow and Sherlock sitting impatiently behind her.

"Well?" Sherlock snapped. "Are we going to go?"

"Yes, your holiness," Molly replied with a mock bow before she spurred Toby forward. They thundered down the Pass, leaving Molly alone with the sound of Toby's hooves and her own thoughts. The last time they went into battle, the first real fight of Molly's life, they hadn't known the enemy was there until they stumbled across them. There hadn't been time to think, to be afraid. But now Molly had hours ahead of her with nothing to do but think. It didn't matter, Molly slowly realized. Sherlock wasn't going to let the Woman have John, and Molly wasn't going to let Moriarty have the kingdom. Molly was very, very glad Sherlock was on the same page she was because, Molly knew, they were going to save the kingdom or die trying.

For some reason, the though spurred Molly on instead of frightening her. She urged Toby slightly faster, until the Pass was in the distance behind them and the lights of the City drew closer and closer.


	12. Promises and Pagans

**A/N: Oh god, I am such a bad author. I've been all "So, just another week guys, I promise!" and then slink back all embarassed three weeks later. So... no more promises on that front, because I feel bad not keeping them. But this story won't leave me alone, and it's been glaring accusingly at me all week from my desktop. IT WILL GET DONE, I PROMISE THIS MUCH. Happy 4th of July to American readers. To everyone else, I hope you also have a wonderful day filled with laughter and Sherlock!**

* * *

The King's City was rejoicing by the time Sherlock and Molly arrived. The sun was beginning to set, casting the city skyline in an orange glow. They pushed through the crowd, heading towards the castle.

"Wait," Sherlock said as they came into a street, the shops pushed back from the road. "I need to purchase some thing."

"Now?" Molly asked incredulously, but Sherlock was already sliding off Toby into the crowd. Molly sighed and began to nudge Toby to the side of the street.

"They're coming!" A woman called from the end of the street and suddenly the people parted down the middle, leaving a large space running down. Molly stared in surprise as a parade rounded the corner, musicians and dancers weaving their way in front of John and the rest of the company. The crowd erupted into cheers and the soldiers waved back, but there was something subdued about the way they moved.

Still, something had brought them here, Molly was sure.

"John!" she called, pushing Toby forward so she could walk along side her captain.

"Molly?" John asked, surprised, before he frowned and his eyes hardened. "What are you doing here? I sent you home."

Former captain, then. "John, Moriarty's alive."

"I've had enough of this, Molly," John said flatly, urging his horse past her.

"John!" Molly snapped at Toby's reigns at she wheeled forwards, stopping in front of John's horse so he couldn't move. The company had stopped moving, and the men were staring at her. "I saw them come out of the snow. They're here, in the city. You have to believe me!"

"Why should I?" John hissed, glancing around. "Where's Sherlock? Is he trying to set up another one of his tricks?"

"We came to help," Molly insisted. "We couldn't just leave you here."

"You don't belong here, Molly," John said, looking down the street and away from meeting her eyes. "I ordered you to leave."

"You did that once before, and I didn't leave," Molly pointed out. "John, I promise you I'm not lying!"

"Why should I believe you?" John hissed, "What have you done that would earn you any trust?"

"I destroyed most of Moriarty's army. I saved the company. I saved you."

"Sherringford Hooper did those things. And he died in the mountains," John snapped before leading his horse around hers and continuing forward, not looking back.

"Molly?" Donovan asked, shifting his flag to the other side. "What's happened?"

"Moriarty's in the city," Molly told him and Anderson, pointedly ignoring Sebastian's sneering face. "Keep an eye out."

Donovan nodded, looking grim, and Molly wheeled her horse away and back into the crowd to find Sherlock.

He was at the end of an alley, tucking something into his coat and walking away from a shadowy figure.

"Sherlock?" Molly asked, glancing down the alley. Sherlock ignored her and climbed up behind her.

"To the castle walls, Molly," Sherlock said, all his attention on the bundle in his hands. Molly shook her head and navigated through the city, leading Toby to the walls and turning the corner, nudging them just beyond the view of the guards. "What did you get?"

"Just a moment," Sherlock said, holding up his little pair of scissors. "I need a lock of your hair."

"What's this for?" Molly asked, holding out a strand forward for Sherlock to snip.

"Simple spell to amplify our connection. It might be very helpful," he replied, threading her hair into a little bronze charm on a thin rope necklace. Off his wrist hung an identical charm, this one with black, curly strands within. He whispered a few words into his palms and the necklaces glowed brightly for a moment.

"Take this," he said, placing the charm with his own hair around Molly's neck. "If you need me, circle the charm three times with your forefinger. It'll snap me right to you, even if I'm out of energy."

"Where are you going?" Molly asked, checking to make sure the rope was secure. "You can't go too far without me."

"When we were at the training camp, I could go as far as the camp bounds. When we're in the castle-"

"You'll be able to move freely about no matter how far?" Molly guessed.

Sherlock shot her an annoyed look as he unwrapped his second parcel. "Don't ask if you're just going to interrupt me. Now, put this on."

"What is it?" Molly asked curiously as he shook out the fabric, revealing a long brown cloak.

"It will make you invisible," Sherlock explained, settling it on Molly's shoulders.

"What?" Molly exclaimed. She stared at the rough brown fabric before she glanced at Sherlock. "How did you get this?"

"Now is not the time," Sherlock huffed, tying the cloak into place and flipping up the hid. "It works. Excellent."

"It does?" Molly could still see herself just fine.

"Make sure your hood doesn't fall off or you'll be visible. And people will still be able to hear you or feel you if they bump into so pay attention!"

"What's the plan?" Molly asked, watching Sherlock mount Toby once more.

"Get into the castle yard with everyone else. Mycroft will be greeting John and the Company in front of the City, and given Moriarty's fondness for theatrics, that's when he will strike. I'm going to find them within the castle while you keep an eye out here."

"Can you handle everything okay?" Molly asked. "I mean, you still haven't recovered all the way-"

"We don't have any other options," Sherlock said quietly.

"Then we'll make it work," Molly agreed. She smiled, even though Sherlock couldn't see her, and reached up to squeeze his hand. "Good luck."

Sherlock shook his head, derisively fond, before he turned Toby around to pass through the gates. Molly turned to case the castle wall, trying to see if Moriarty and his men were trying to get in another way. She walked the wall three times, turning up absolutely nothing. A great roar of cheer alerted her to the arrival of the parade, and Molly followed them at the back, ducking out of people's way.

_Please_, she thought, closing her eyes, _Please let Sherlock succeed.  
_

* * *

Mycroft's security was atrocious. His brother had become too confident, too secure in his own power. The guards barely glanced Sherlock's way, looking away once they saw he had no bags on him. Sherlock left Toby outside the stables, flipping a stable boy a few gold coins to make sure he wouldn't be bothered loosely tethered to one of the hitching posts. Slipping into the castle itself was also child's play, the castle to busy with preparation with the night's coming festivities to pay him much notice.

Sherlock snuck into the servant's quarters and stole a uniform, safely stowing his coat behind an empty suit of armor. He snagged a tray of food left unguarded in the kitchen and made his way to the royal living quarters. Knowing his brother, no one would bat an eye at a servant delivering food to King Mycroft's room, even at odd hours.

But Molly was right. He wasn't recovered, not enough, so he didn't sense the trap in the hallway until he had already walked right into it. The light blazed about the chalk on the floor and Sherlock found himself unable to cross the wall of fire that encircled him.

The Woman danced her way out of one of the doorways, clapping her hands in delight.

"Sherlock," she cooed, "What a surprise!"

"You were expecting me, Lady," Sherlock replied, ditching the tray as he gestured at the fire.

"It's Irene at the moment. I wondered if you might come," the Woman continued, "But I wasn't sure. It wouldn't be for your brother, but I didn't know just how much that captain meant to you."

"You leave John alone," Sherlock hissed, knowing it was far too late to hide it.

"Oh Sherlock, what has become of you?" Irene asked, pouting with fake sympathy. "What was it you once told me about humans? 'Never get attached,' wasn't it? And now you have two little pets. Well, a pet and a mistress, technically."

"Is that why you agreed to help Moriarty?" Sherlock asked, narrowing his eyes. "Molly?"

Irene smiled nastily, but she ignored his question. "Oh, Moriarty can't wait to get his hands on that girl. She nearly defeated him, and he's mutilated people for less. I almost feel bad for the poor child. But," she paused and leaned forward so she could look straight into Sherlock's eyes. "It won't be anything compared to what I'm going to do with John."

Sherlock growled, a sound deep his throat. It was something he hadn't done in a very, very long time. But here, faced with Irene, the Woman, the Red Lady, it was almost impossible not to revert to what he used to be, not when she threatened to take away everything he had.

"I'm going to eat him alive," she continued, licking her lips eagerly. "I'm going to make him _watch_ as I eat little bits of him. I'll probably do it in front of you. If you behave, I might even let you have the first bite of his heart."

Sherlock snarled wordlessly, and he toed the edge of the circle, as close to the flames as he could get.

"I will kill you," Sherlock promised her. "I swear I will kill you!"

"How?" Irene asked, throwing her head back and laughing. "Oh Sherlock, you're normally so observant. How did you miss the writing?"

"Writing?" Sherlock repeated, glancing down at the chalk beneath his feet. Irene held out her hand and said a Word.

Sherlock screamed, an ancient, pained sound that echoed through the castle. His power began to rush out of him and into the stone floor and walls, draining him. He sagged to his knees, and then collapsed completely, barely able to keep his eyes open. Irene crouched near the edge of the circle.

"You were part of my plan, you know," Irene said, placing her hand in the fire and extinguishing it. Sherlock tried to back away, but he was only able to shakily push himself up onto his elbows. "You might hate Mycroft, but you're one of the only weak spots he has. He'll give everything up for you."

Sherlock reached for the barest reaches of his power, trying to gather it up. Irene slipped a bag out of her sleeve and used a handkerchief to carefully draw a silver collar out of it.

"I've been waiting for this, Sherlock," she whispered, reaching for his neck.

There was a twinge in his chest, a tugging in his stomach. Sherlock, for a fleeting moment, thought it was fear before the stone dissolved from beneath his hands and knees and he was pulled away. He arrived on the grass behind a screaming crowd. He looked up in time to see Moriarty and his men pull Mycroft and Lady Anthea behind the castle's main doors as they swung shut.


	13. Confessions and Consultations

Molly had hovered anxiously at the edge of the crowd, trying to pick out Moriarty or any of his men from where they might attack Mycroft. The king himself was greeting John and the rest of the company at the entrance to his castle, a large plateau on top of a stone staircase. Molly grasped the silver charm Sherlock had given her tight in one hand, her father's sword in the other.

Moriarty melted out of the shadows behind Mycroft and clapped his hands. The crowd's cheers of victory stuttered to a stop, and a stunned silence fell.

"I think we might be celebrating a bit prematurely," he said. Mycroft turned at the same moment John started forward.

Molly watched in horror as two things happened at once; John's path to Moriarty was blocked by Sebastian, who pushed the captain down the first set of stone steps.

"What-" John gasped, trying to struggle to his feet before even regaining his breath.

"Sorry sir," Sebastian sneered. "I quit. Conflict of interest."

At the same time, Moriarty had a knife to Lady Anthea's throat and was grinning at Mycroft.

"I've taken a few precautions," he hummed, arching himself against Lady Anthea just enough to make her stiffen. "Do you think you want to chance it? I guarantee she'll be dead before you reach me."

Mycroft slowly held up his hands as one of Moriarty's men approached the king and snapped a silver collar around his throat.

Molly activated Sherlock's charm.

The moment the silver collar snapped close Moriarty's men dragged the king up the steps and through the heavy doors as the crowd began to scream.

"What happened?" Sherlock gasped out from the ground, his fingers bone white as he tried to push himself up.

"Moriarty put a silver collar on Mycroft," Molly darted down to catch Sherlock as his shaky legs gave out. "What happened to you?"

"Got caught in a trap. That's not important right now." Sherlock forced himself to stand upright, and Molly didn't comment on his tight and rather heavy grip on her arm. "We need to get up there."

Molly stared past the crowd to the top of the stairs, where the company was trying to break the main doors down. "Right."

People didn't pay much attention to the two of them, the gasping, shuddering man and the shorter, determined girl. They weren't even questioned until they broke free from the crowd and began climbing up the steps, reaching John just as Donovan and Anderson came running along the castle wall.

"None of the doors will open, sir," Donovan said before she caught sight of Molly and Sherlock over John's shoulder. "Sherrin- Molly!"

John whirled around to glare at him before he caught sight of Sherlock. "What happened to you?" he asked, eyes widening in alarm.

"Moriarty enlisted the help of a pagan goddess to help him capture another pagan god masquerading as a human king," Sherlock said instead, pushing himself off Molly to stand under his own power. He still swayed slightly, causing Molly to keep a close eye on him as he continued. "And means the castle is being roped off by a creature far too powerful for you to break through with your company."

"King Mycroft isn't human?" Anderson repeated, causing Sherlock to roll his eyes. He opened his mouth to snap back, but John held up a hand to stop him.

"Is that why Moriarty put that silver collar around his neck?" John asked. He was frowning, but at least he was listening to Sherlock, and Molly was willing to count that as progress.

"It inhibits his powers. I'm not sure what Moriarty's plans are yet. If he just wanted the kingdom, he would've killed Mycroft the moment his powers were inhibited. Mycroft his clever, and leaving him alive just gives him a chance to escape."

"How do you know so much about this?" John asked quietly, low enough that the rest of the company couldn't hear. "How did the two of you manage to find all this out?"

"It's a long story," Molly began, hoping to spare Sherlock an explanation. She had every reason to trust Sherlock, but John was on much more dubious ground. "But what matters is-"

"I'm Mycroft's brother," Sherlock interrupted flatly, looking straight at John. "I'm quite aware of what it means to be a god."

John blinked. "So you're trying telling me you're a god?"

"Former, technically. Not many worshippers these days."

"That's how you saved my life?" John asked. Sherlock nodded, but didn't say a word.

John turned to Molly. "What about you?"

"I'm just a human," Molly said quickly. "And none of us would be here without Sherlock. And right now his brother, our king, is in danger and if we don't work together Moriarty's going to get whatever he's after. Please, sir, discipline me after we all try not to die, but just trust me for now!"

"Trust?" John repeated. "The more I found out about the two of you, the less I want to trust you."

"Sir," Donovan said, stepping forward. He glanced at Molly before taking a deep breath. "I have confession to make."

"Now really isn't the time, Donovan," John said, rubbing at his temple.

"I think it is, sir. My name isn't Sawyer Donovan. It's Sally."

There was a silence, broken only by a small noise from Sherlock that sounded suspiciously like a swallowed, "Well of i _course_!" /i

"You're a woman as well?" John asked, his voice hitching in a little hysterical laugh before he turned to Anderson. "And your name is actually Andrea, I suppose."

"What? No!" Anderson protested.

"Did you know?"

"Ah," Anderson looked down. "About Dono- Sally? Yes, sir."

John was turned away from them to look at the rest of the company as they tried to find a battering ram for the door.

"Fine," he said, turning back around. "Apparently everyone's been lying to me. I can't take Moriarty alone, though, so what the hell?"

"Well said, sir," Donovan said, grinning a bit.

"Wonderful. Now that we're all done wasting what little time we have, I need everyone to listen very closely," Sherlock said, pushing out of their little circle until he found a small door along the castle wall.

"None of the doors will open, we already tried them," Anderson protested as they hurried after him.

"Yes, i _you_ /i tried them. Of course they won't open," Sherlock said dismissively, digging around in his pocket until he found a bit of chalk. "Only magic can defeat magic."

"Do you have enough power to do this?" Molly asked warily. He still looked like a butterfly could bowl him over. "Once we get in there, we still have Moriarty and that woman to deal with."

"And Sebastian, the traitor," Donovan hissed.

"I don't have much of a choice," Sherlock said, with a glance at John. "But if everyone can gather their wits enough for this one moment of competency, then I have a plan."


End file.
